


Rat A Tat Tat

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Laser Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loves laser tag. Laser tag is the best thing to come out of 1979. Seriously, between Russia invading Afghanistan and all those people dying at that WHO concert, laser tag was the pinnacle of 1979. It’s one of the only things to do in Beacon Hills when you’re a broke teenager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rat A Tat Tat

**Author's Note:**

> There was an AU prompt post floating around with a laser tag prompt. It made me nostalgic for my middle school laser tag days, so here’s a quickie. Totally self-undulgant, high-school-human! AU where everyone’s alive and Erica doesn’t have epilepsy.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. This is the best idea anyone has ever had,” Stiles says, jiggling his legs around, leaning into Scott’s space. He’s awaiting the employee’s highly anticipated arrival to get this show on the road. “And who’s brilliant idea was it? Oh, that’s right, mine!”

Stiles _loves_ laser tag. Laser tag is the best thing to come out of 1979. Seriously, between Russia invading Afghanistan and all those people dying at that WHO concert, laser tag was the pinnacle of 1979. It’s one of the only things to do in Beacon Hills when you’re a broke teenager. On Tuesdays, they run an open floor special where unlimited game play is $15. That brings in a lot of younger kids, but Stiles doesn’t underestimate them. There’s a group of 11 year olds that comes in once a month and hands everyone their own asses, including Scott and his. Stiles isn’t bitter about it, he knows greatness when he sees it.

“You did have a good idea, Stilinski,” Lydia says, mouth popping in approval. There’s bright pink on her lips, temporary paint streaked in her hair. Her and Erica look wild under the blacklight, with their hair blown out and glowing brightly. “I’ll give you that.”

Stiles beams at her, shoving his shoulder into Scott’s. Damn right, he had a good idea. Lydia came to lunch one day with a fierce look of indecision, wondering what she should do for her spring break party. Stiles said “laser tag!” and everyone looked at him like he was an idiot for suggesting it. Except Scott because Scott would never do him like that. Lydia got quiet before smiling and taking out her phone to text her parents about it.

They rented out the entire building, because they’re the Martins. Suddenly, Stiles’ idea of laser tag with the gang turned into laser tag with a _purpose_ — and a dance floor. The arena only holds a handful of people at a time, so the rest of the guests get sweaty and raunchy while the DJ spins some EDM and bounces in place. Black lights mean a rave theme, so there’s a copious amount of fishnets and half-dressed people. The Martins even staffed a painter to decorate everyone’s bodies in glow-in-the-dark paint.

It’s the first game of the night, with the party in full swing. The bass reverberates through the speakers, Stiles’ leg jerks in-time. He’s so stoked for this, beyond it. Stiles and the blue team are going to _wipe the floor_ with everyone else’s asses. It’s going to be glorious. Plus, bonus!, Derek’s in a tight t-shirt that hugs his arms so nicely. Stiles has died and gone to Heaven. Black-lit, glow-in-the-dark, laser tagging Heaven. Hopefully, it’s dark enough that Derek doesn’t notice him staring.

“No war paint, Stilinski?” Jackson drawls, from where he’s lounging on the steps that act as seating for the waiting participants. He’s shirtless with a glowing, green dragon scale design on his arms and chest. Leader of the red team that consists of him, Danny, Ethan, Aiden, and Lydia. He keeps referring to them in his head as Team of Evil Hotness.

“I’m allergic,” Stiles lies, fiddling with the straps on his vest again. It’s not true, he doesn’t want to make himself a walking target. The vests do a pretty good job of blending into the background, considering the arena is full of flashing lights anyway, but highlighter and body paint? Totally obvious.

Stiles can easily pick out who’s going down first by how they chose to dress. Jackson, of course, his hands glow brightly around his gun. Allison’s pink bra makes her a target and Stiles is totally taking her down because she decided to be on the yellow team. Isaac’s orange and green face paint means he’ll be one of easiest to spot. Even Danny’s green tribal design makes him vulnerable, though most of that is covered by the vest.

“Bullshit,” Jackson says, while Stiles shrugs.

“He doesn’t want to be seen,” Derek says, crossing his arms over his laser tag vest. He’s yellow with Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Allison. There’s a series of bright yellow swirl patterns all over his arms and up his neck. Stiles is having a visceral reaction to the whole thing. Derek at all times is boner-inducing. Derek painted and shiny is _very_ boner-inducing.

“What?” Jackson demands.

“The paint is a dead giveaway. We’re walking targets,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles. Ousted, damn. Stiles glares in Derek’s direction, he’ll be the first to get shot.

“If you know that, why the hell did you make us get painted?” Jackson asks, looking at Derek with something like betrayal. Derek huffs out a laugh, repositioning his grip on the gun.

“Because I don’t need to hide. I’m going to kick your asses either way,” Derek smirks. Stiles scowls at him.

“We’ll see,” he challenges. It comes out of his mouth without really thinking about it. Scott elbows him sharply, mouth hanging open, flabbergasted. Stiles doesn’t stop looking at Derek. Jackson’s laugh is sharp and braying.

“Want to put a number on that?” he asks, leaning forward and breaking the moment Stiles was totally having with Derek. There was eye contact, lots of eye contact.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly have money to throw away on a laser tag game,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. Stiles’ allowance is probably literal pocket change to Jackson, the money he leaves in his car just in case he decides to stop and get a coffee. “Unemployed AP student here.”

“Can’t handle buying me lunch for a week or can’t handle the fact that you’re going to lose?” Derek asks, smirking. Jackson throws his head back and laughs. 

“Oh, please, I’m going to win and then, you’re going to buy me lunch,” Stiles shoots back, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. He’s going to demolish Derek and rub it in his face all week. It will be glorious.

“Aw, Stilinski, if you wanted to go on a date with me, you could have just said something,” Derek teases and everyone bursts out laughing. Stiles feels his whole body flush, but he still meets Derek’s eyes, his challenge.

Stiles waits until the “ooooohhhh”s die out before he answers.

“Derek, darling, light of my life,” Stiles says, leaning back so he can sprawl across the seat casually, pretending like his heart isn’t going to beat out of his chest. He’s doing this, he’s actually doing this. It might sound like he’s joking, but he’s not joking at all. “When you lose, you’re taking me on a date.”

The room gets quiet, all eyes going to Derek. His mouth tugs into a softer smile.

“You mean, when I win, you’ll take me on a date,” he says.

“Holy shit,” Scott says. Stiles agrees, he’s trying very hard not to freak out, heart stuck in his throat.

“We’ll see, mister, we shall see,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. Derek’s smile gets a little bit bigger and he looks away, turning his body towards Jackson. Stiles sees Jackson hit Derek’s shoulder, mouth starting to move — probably in protest — but Stiles doesn’t eavesdrop. Instead, he falls over into Scott, praying for strength.

“Did that just happen?” Scott demands, voice a harsh whisper.

“Totally did, Scotty boy, totally did.” Why it happened, he has no idea, he just knows that it _did_.

“Dude, you don’t have the hand-eye coordination to take down _Derek_ ,” Scott says, dropping his voice low.

“Dude, either way I get a _date_. If that’s not worth brutal humiliation on the arena floor, I don’t know what is. Besides, we do this like every week! It’ll be fine. We’ll just act like they’re Kristen’s group!” Kristen is the leader of the 11 year olds that dominate every month. Scott and Stiles are usually the last ones standing against the 6 grade scourge.

“Kristen always kicks our asses!” Scott says, looking scandalized.

“Duh, but there’s no way they’re as good as Kristen and all of them,” Stiles hisses. “Set the bar high and we’ll take them down.” Scott’s face brightens, fist bumping Stiles’ automatically.

“Are you guys making a game plan?” Isaac asks, smirking at them from around Allison. Stiles can’t get over the stupid orange paint on his face.

“A game plan to get in Derek’s pants,” Erica coos, looking entirely too pleased.

“The game plan is to kick your ass,” Scott says, practically shouting. Stiles laughs and starts stomping his feet. The rest of the blue team starts up with him, pounding their shoes on the carpet. Malia, Liam, Mason, and Scott all chanting:

“Blue! Blue! Blue!”

Everyone else rolls their eyes.

“Alright, shut up!” Erica snaps. “Just come to terms with the fact that all five of you are going to be at the bottom of the scoreboard.”

“Not likely,” Malia snorts. “Stiles and Scott are here every week. They know all the secrets!” Oh, geez.

“‘Lia!” Stiles groans, while the rest of them laugh.

“Every week?” Danny asks.

“Just when I thought you guys were at the loser low, you continue to surprise me,” Jackson sneers. Derek elbows him.

“Shut your trap or I’ll duct tape your locker shut again,” Stiles warns.

“That was you, you little sh —”

“Wow, the language!” comes a new voice. Stiles whips around to see an employee lingering in the doorway. She wiggles her fingers at them in greeting. Stiles watches Scott’s mouth drop open. “I’m Kira, I’ll be your mission operative.”

‘Mission operative’ aka employee that tells them the rules and moderates the game. True to theme, she’s in bright glowing leggings and a neon green shirt. Stiles hopes that they’re paying her double to work this private party, lord knows everyone’s going to be acting like idiots sooner rather than later.

“Normally, I would tell you no running or climbing, no contact, and keep your voices down, but the Martins signed a waiver, so technically you can do what you want, as much as you want. The only rule we’re upholding is no food, drink, or gum in the arena. I don’t want to clean it up.”

She gives them all a winning smile. Scott’s mouth is hanging open again.

“People are points, bases are points, if you get shot your vest powers down for 30 seconds and then, you’re back online. The points will show on a scoreboard at the end of the game, the team with the most accumulative points wins —”

“And Stiles finally gets a date,” Isaac says, smirking. Stiles hits him in the leg with his gun.

“Please, no violence,” Kira says, with a wince.

“Sorry,” Stiles lies.

“Right. Uh, please aim your gun towards someone else’s vest to calibrate it,” Kira says. “Oh! — Yes, your guns are attached to your vest. No, they don’t go very far. Please don’t tug on them, because that breaks them and you’ll be out of the game!”

Stiles waits until most people are done pointing their guns at the chests of the people closest to them. A secret that he’s learned is the guns calibrate better for distance if you aim at something farther away to begin with. Derek notices that he doesn’t lift his gun. When Stiles looks up, their eyes meet. Smirking, Stiles aims his gun at Derek’s vest, since he’s across the room. Derek raises his eyebrows and does the same, barrel of his fake gun lighting up yellow as he shoots it at Stiles’ chest. Damn it.

“Your vests will activate a minute after the ‘blast doors’ open to let you into the ‘space station’. Your teammates are your ‘crew’ protect them from rival ‘crews’ at all costs! Any questions?”

“Can my friend Scott have your number?” Stiles asks, clapping his hands down on Scott’s shoulder. Scott jumps and glares at him. “He’s looking at you like you’re the Second Coming.” Kira grins and bites her lip. If the lighting was right, Stiles would probably be able to see her blushing.

“Maybe after the game,” she says, leaning into the giant button on the wall and the double doors slide open, vests screaming as the arena activates.

“Dude!” Scott says, grins at Kira until they’re through the doors.

“Dude!” Stiles agrees.

They take off, automatically going to the blue base to group up. There’s one minute from the press of the button until the vests activate and start keeping score. As the others file in behind Scott, the lights on the vest start blinking faster, letting off a whining noise.

When he turns, Mason and Liam are at his back, looking terrified. Scott holds his hand up for a fist bump and Stiles pounds his fist, turning to Malia to do the same.

“Good luck,” Stiles says, winking at them.

 

The laser tag arena is a work of art, an adult jungle gym of glowing outer space murals. There are towers and ramps, dead ends, pillars, holes to shoot through. The carpets glow, the lights change color. It’s the best and Stiles is the one who knows all the ways to avoid people. It’s loud and completely chaotic. The whole arena full of screaming, goading, feet pounding on the ramps, the Sci-Fi sound effects of the guns. Whenever someone dies the whole arena blinks a thousand different colors and makes a groaning sound.

“No sniping!” Stiles shouts up at the towers when he sees Mason’s vest go out with no one on ground level. The arena flashes and laments, Mason looks miserable. He’s the first to die.

“House rule!” Aiden yells, presumably from one of the towers, but it sounds like he moves, so Stiles won’t hold it against him. He will shoot the shit out of him though, so there’s that.

Stiles’ whips around a red pillar and —

 _Pew pew_ —

Down goes Isaac with his stupid orange, highlighter face. His vest goes dark immediately, he doesn’t even have a chance to pull the trigger.

“Awww,” says the arena.

“Yes!” Stiles yells, in triumph, doing a little shimmy, he knew he was going to get Isaac.

“Fuck off,” Isaac growls and Stiles takes the opportunity to shoot Boyd — _pew pew_ — as he comes right up behind Isaac. As his vest goes dark, Stiles sees more of the yellow team coming around the corner. Down goes Erica! It’s like they wanted him to find them.

“Boo!” says the arena, as Stiles books it out of their before their vests come back on. He learned not to stick around in the early days.

“Stiles!” says Scott, running at Stiles, grabbing at his hand and pulling him in between two walls. Stiles watches the hall as Scott breathes deeply, looking for signs of any yellow vests. Oh, yellow jackets. Bugs to be crushed under Stiles’ superior gaming skills.

“Alright?” Stiles asks. Scott nods enthusiastically. There’s not really any time for lengthy discussion as the lights go off and the arena keeps groaning. Stiles can hear the music from the DJ through the walls. Aiden turns the corner and both Scott and Stiles shoot at him, vest blinking out. They high five.

“Uuugh,” says the arena.

Stiles breaks away from Scott with one more high five. He doesn’t believe in travelling in a pack. Besides, they have way different strategy types. Scott is a sneaker, waiting for the opportunity. Stiles takes the opportunity and tangos with it, running down the passages and shooting at anything that crosses his path.

From the corner of his eye he sees green and chases it. God, he would love to take Jackson down, watch his eyes as his vest light goes out. The disbelief on his face would be _priceless_.

“Danny, please don’t tell me you guys are just making out and not playing!” Jackson yells, just up ahead. Probably to hear his own voice. Stiles creeps his head around a pillar and sees Jackson crouch down, looking around the wall. There’s no direct shot to the sensor on his back. Stiles breathes and moves behind the pillar that’s between them.

“I do what I want!” Danny shouts down from somewhere overhead. Stiles flinches, directing his gun towards the ceiling. No way is he going to get out by a sniper. That’s cheap. Jackson stands and looks up as well, believing he’s in no danger. Ha, if only he’d turn —

“Trying to get your dick sucked under a blacklight?”

“That would be pretty obvious,” Danny chuckles from the tunnel above. Jackson just needs to shift his weight — “Ethan would look like a Pollock painting.”

“Who the fuck is Pollock?”

“He saying there would be jizz everywhere, Jackson!” Lydia yells, from somewhere not in the immediate vicinity.

“Way to be a nasty ass,” Jackson yells, presenting his back. Stiles makes a victory noise and Jackson jerks, presenting him with his chest, fuck yes!

He’s thwarted. Completely and totally —

Derek comes out from behind the wall and shoots Jackson in the back. It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed Stiles at all.

“Noooo!” the arena yells.

“What the fuck,” Jackson says, whirling on Derek. Stiles sees Derek’s teeth under the blacklight, the clearly pleased grin on his face. It makes Stiles’ heart flip in his chest. Stiles steps out and shoots Derek in the chest. _Pew pew_ —

“Aww!” says the arena. The look of utter betrayal on Derek’s face is priceless.

“After everything, Stiles?” he asks, looking completely wounded. “I thought you cared!”

“I do care, you dweeb,” Stiles says, almost stepping forward. For what, Stiles doesn’t know, but he thinks permission to date means permission to touch and it would be so nice to touch Derek right now. Jackson’s vest blinks back on and Stiles runs.

“Stilinski!” Danny yells, when he passes under the tunnel. Stiles laughs out loud and keeps going, swerving through pillars and around walls in case anyone is following.

“Goddamn it, I wanted to get that little weasel,” Jackson yells.

“Stiles,” he hears someone growl. Sexy growl, so that was Derek.

“STILES!” Scott shouts, sounding stoked.

“Has anyone gotten Stiles?” Stiles hears Allison ask as he gets to the other end of the arena. Stiles whips around the corner, gun first. No one. Their group is pretty small, only 15 of them. Usually there’s double that, so people are harder to find. It makes it more precarious to be lurking around.

“I doubt it!” Malia says, cackling. Stiles appreciates the faith she puts in him.

“I’m totally getting him,” Erica says, close. Stiles panics and doubles back —

And runs straight into Boyd who shoots his light out.

“Boo!” says the arena.

“How could you?” Stiles asks, disappointed in himself. He should have seen that coming. Boyd is sneaky like that. Him and Erica were probably pulling a pincer move without Stiles realizing. Clever, clever.

“You’re too easy, Stiles,” Erica says, grabbing Boyd and pulling him away. Stiles flips her and her glowing hair off. He’ll get her back. Oh yes, he will. Stiles stands there and waits the agonizing 30 seconds for the vest to power back up.

The arena groans and Stiles’ vest goes out again. He whirls, about to hit whoever shot him with his gun, because what the hell! Except that it’s Derek, smiling with that little, amused smile of his. Stiles can’t fault him when he’s smiling like that.

“Dude, doubling down? I thought you were better than that,” Stiles chastises, as Derek steps closer. Derek smiles again and whoa, they’re close. Stiles doesn’t remember them getting closer. There’s a wall against his back now. He wishes he could see the look on Derek’s face. What he’s —

Derek leans forward and gives him a sweet kiss on his mouth, just as Stiles’ vest powers back up. It might be the lights, but Derek looks mischievous, like kissing Stiles is the most clever thing he’s done. It is. Stiles agrees with that with all of his heart.

Except that Derek’s moving away. He’s just going to _kiss Stiles_ and then walk away? That’s absolutely absurd! Stiles raises his gun with one hand and shoots Derek out. Derek looks down at his chest, surprise on his face.

“You can’t just _kiss me_ and then walk away! That’s not how it works! You don’t just kiss someone and _unf_ —”

Derek’s hand on the back of his head, threading through the short hairs at his nape. He kisses Stiles with a hard pressure at first, backing off to lick into his mouth with his spectacular tongue. Stiles melts and Derek guides him back against the wall, the lights on their vest bump together obnoxiously. Stiles groans and kisses back, unable to stop. Fuck the scoreboard, fuck the game. He’s exactly where he wants to be.

Derek moves away too soon. Stiles’ lips feel _bruised_ as he watches Derek with his mouth hanging open. Okay, he might still be blown away about the whole thing.

“Wha’?” he asks, dazed.

“Incentive,” Derek says, shrugging. He starts to move away.

“But you —”

“Get a better score than me, Stiles,” Derek says, with a fond irritation that Stiles is just realizing is there. Has that been there all along? Maybe when Stiles was annoying Derek, he wasn’t ever actually _annoying Derek_.

“I’m going to date you so hard,” Stiles says, fiercely. Derek huffs out a laugh and then, he’s gone. Stiles looks around, making sure the coast is clear. When he confirms that it is he does a victory dance, pelvic thrusting and flinging out his hands. Derek Hale wants to date him. _Derek Hale_ wants to put their mouths together and kiss him with _tongue_.

“Stop being a dweeb,” Erica says, stepping out from behind the wall he’s leaning again. Stiles jumps in surprise, heart speeding in his chest. What the _fuck_? Erica smirks and shoots him in the chest.

“Noooo!” the arena groans.

“Fuck,” says Stiles.

“Maybe with Derek, if you play your cards right,” Erica says, winking at him. Stiles narrows his eyes at her. He’s like 80% sure that no one was around for the kiss, so maybe she has the inside scoot on Derek’s… _Derek_ -ness.

“What do you mean?” he asks. His light flickers on and he shoots hers out, so she has a reason to stay. Erica snorts.

“I can see both of your boners from outer space. It’s a little overdue, don’t you think?” She doesn’t even let him react to that, just flounces away like she didn’t just drop that huge _bomb_ on him. Stiles stares at her with his mouth open until Liam passes him. Stiles runs after him, trying not to step on his ankles.

“Do I have an obvious boner for Derek?” Stiles asks him.

“Why would I know the answer to that question?” Liam asks, picking up pace. “Why would I care?” He has a point. Stiles lets him slip away without pursuing it further. Liam’s not going to know. Someone has to know. 

A pink bra runs out across the hall perpendicular to him and Stiles starts running, dodging pillars. Allison must hear him, she serpentines to keep her sensor from getting hit, jumping up on the wall over the ramp and high-tailing it up to the tunnel. Damn athletically-inclined people.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, running after her. He has to go around the stupid wall to get up the ramp. No way is he going to try to jump that partition. He’ll break his leg or his neck. Then, he really wouldn’t be able to go on that date with Derek. When he sees her, he shoots her down. She stops and pouts at him.

“Objectively, do you think Derek likes me?” Stiles asks her, as they wait for her vest to come back on.

“You want to have this conversation now, Stiles?” she asks. Stiles can’t really see her face in the tunnel, but it’s probably a mix of adoration and amusement. Allison has perma-delight around Stiles.

“Yes, yes, did you not hear us in the other room? I’m getting a date out of this! The only question is, is it a _date_ -date or is it a date by obligation?”

“I don’t think Derek would have said anything if he didn’t like you, Stiles,” Allison says, patient as ever. “He’s not that kind of guy.” She’s totally right. Derek doesn’t lead people on, he’s too nice for that. Which is hilarious, considering his resting bitch face. There’s no way Derek would hurt Stiles with intent. Especially after that kiss.

Stiles is so caught up in analysing the situation that he doesn’t realize Allison’s light is already on until she brings up her gun and shoots him down.

“Awww!” says the arena.

“Come _on_ ,” says Stiles.

“Get in the game,” Allison says, just before she leaves. 

Stiles is definitely not winning this round. He can’t help how distracted he is! Derek is at the top of the Hotties With A Body list. Derek would be the first name he listed for M.A.S.H., if Stiles played M.A.S.H. anymore. Derek is dream date material and he wants to be real-date material. Stiles’ mind is a little blown. 

Not that he doesn’t think he’s hot enough to _get_ Derek, he totally is. Stiles is also on the Hotties With A Body list. It’s just that he’s spent so much time fantasizing about what would happen if he ever got this opportunity that he has no idea what to do now that it _has_ happened.

Stiles knocks his head into the wall, trying to clear his thoughts. He jumps out of his skin when he hears the _pew pew_ of a gun behind him. He whirls around, panicking, but it’s only Malia with her gun aimed at him.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she says, having the decency to look sheepish. Good thing the vests don’t allow for friendly fire or he would be screwed. “I might be a little color blind in here.”

“Do you think Derek has a crush on me?” Stiles asks. It looks like she’s going to laugh at him, but at that moment her vest blinks out and the arena lights up. Stiles can see the glow of Lydia’s pink lipstick and the halo of her hair. The barrel of her gun is aimed at him, bright red, and Stiles just runs flat out in the other direction.

Of course, because it’s Stiles, he turns a sharp corner and collides with a body. It’s Derek, Stiles sees the swirls on his arms as they come around Stiles to stop his trajectory. The sudden collision makes Derek’s gun drop out of his hand, bouncing against his side.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Stiles says, a little breathless. It takes him another second to realize that he’s still in Derek’s arms. It feels like an erotic novella cover. “Sorry, sorry, I totally ran into you.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, the smile he gives Stiles glows under the black light. It’s stretched wide and happy. Stiles’ heart flutters around, twitterpated as all get out. Derek totally has a crush on him. How did he miss that?

“Yeah —” Stiles doesn’t get to finish his sentence, Derek is kissing him again. It’s fast and demanding, hands slotting against the sides of Stiles’ neck. Warm and amazing. Stiles presses them together and walks Derek back until they hit the wall.

“Get a room!” someone yells as they go past. The arena groans and Stiles’ vest goes out, but Stiles really doesn’t care, he just wants to keep kissing Derek. Derek lets Stiles press into him, hands on his face and his arms, hooking his fingers in Dere’s belt loops. Stiles is cursing the stupid vests between them. Stiles wants to get his hands under Derek’s shirt, touch the hard planes of his chest.

“We could totally —”

“Stiles, the game?” Derek says. Stiles wishes he could see his eyes, see the expression on his face better. It sounds affectionate, he wants to _see_ the affection.

“Screw the game! I’m pretty sure we’re going on a date anyway, right? The game can fuck itself.”

“I mean, we have to wait until it’s over,” Derek says, hands on Stiles’ face, steering him back into a kiss. Oh yeah, it’s not like they can leave. Whatever. Stiles presses closer, vest digging into his torso. Stupid laser tag equipment, stupid —

“Oh geez, they’re worse than Ethan and Danny,” Lydia says.

“Boo!” says the arena, as Stiles gets shot again.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles says. Derek laughs into his mouth and then, they’re moving away. Stiles mourns the loss.

“Stop distracting me,” Derek says, before shooting out Lydia’s vest and disappearing.

“How ungrateful,” she mutters, before turning to go as well. Stiles breathes deep, trying to get his head back in the game. It’s hard when all he wants to do is pull Derek into a corner and make out for the rest of the party. Before this, Stiles would be hard pressed to find something he wanted to be a part of more than a laser tag, black light party full of half-naked people. Now, he’s just hard pressed.

Get it, hard?

As much as he tries to concentrate, he never fully gets that competitive edge back. Mostly because anytime he sees Derek and his yellow swirls, he reels him in for a kiss. They smile so hard into it that their teeth hit, but it doesn’t matter, it makes it better. He gets shot more times than he can keep track of.

When the yellow lights finally come up, Stiles knows that he’s towards the bottom of the scoreboard, but he really doesn’t care. Not when Derek grabs his hand and pulls them from the arena, standing next to him as the scores pop up. Stiles can’t help looking at him in the better lighting. Bruised lips, color on his cheeks, hair tussled. Derek notices him watching and smiles into his shoulder and biting it. Stiles has no idea how to react to that.

“I feel a little betrayed,” Scott says, coming next to Stiles and bumping their shoulders together. Stiles smiles and rolls his eyes apologetically. “We lost because you got distracted.”

“Worth it,” Stiles says. Sure enough, the names roll out and Derek and Stiles are 11th and 12th place. “I’ll get you Kira’s number.” Scott beams at him.

“You owe me a date,” Derek says, breath warm on Stiles’ ear.

“The romantic in me says candle lit dinner and slow dancing,” Stiles says, walking them away from the others so he can press soft kisses to Derek’s mouth. “But that’s a small part. How about we go out to my Jeep so we can get off, then I’ll buy you some ice cream after.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles, looking unimpressed.

“You think I’m _that_ easy?”

“I’m hoping,” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on, orgasms and ice cream. What’s a better date than that?” Derek chuckles and lets Stiles lead him out to his Jeep, stealing kisses along the way.

Giving Derek a blow job in the back seat is harder than he thought it was going to be, but he thinks its worth it for the look on Scott’s face when he asks why there’s yellow paint on the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
